Chapter 8: Tangled in Shame

ISABELLA’S POV

I grabbed Mia’s arm, my fingers digging into her sleeve, and yanked her from the cafeteria table, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. Her scream—“WHAT?!”—still echoed, drawing every eye in the room. Students gawked, their trays clattering, whispers hissing like snakes.

“Who knows what she might have done this time,” someone muttered.

“…she’s such a shameless slut,” another sneered.

My cheeks burned, my red hair sticking to my sweaty neck as I dragged Mia through the crowd, their stares branding me. I was Crestwood’s punching bag, the most bullied, the most hated, and Mia’s outburst had lit a fresh fuse. I kept my head down, my sneakers squeaking, pulling her past the cafeteria’s glass doors into the hallway.

“Slow down, Bella!” Mia gasped, her blonde ponytail bouncing, but I didn’t stop, my breath hitching.

I needed somewhere private, somewhere no one could hear. I veered toward the old music room, a forgotten corner of campus, its door warped and dusty. I shoved it open, the hinges creaking, and tugged Mia inside, the air stale with old sheet music and mildew. I released her, my hands trembling, and spun to face her. Her blue eyes were wide, her mouth still agape, shock frozen on her face from the moment I’d confessed Sebastian was the man I’d fucked.

“Cover your mouth, alright?” I hissed, my voice shaky, my hands fluttering to her face, pressing her lips shut. My eyes darted to the door, half-expecting Vanessa or her minions to barge in, phones flashing.

Mia swatted my hands away, her voice muffled but sharp. “I’m waiting, Bella! Spill the gist! You can’t drop a bomb like that and run!” She crossed her arms, her foot tapping, her excitement barely contained.

I glanced around, the room dim, it's pianos draped in faded clothes, the windows smeared with grime. No one was here, no shadows lurking.

I exhaled, my shoulders sagging, my voice a whisper. “I was as shocked as you, Mia. When he walked into history class, saying he’s Professor Wolfe… I couldn’t breathe. I felt my whole world crumbling when I realized that the man I gave my virginity to, the man I—”

I choked, my throat tight, my fingers twisting my sweater’s hem. “I felt his dick grow inside of me is my teacher. But the problem is that he’s acting like he doesn’t know me.”

Mia’s eyes widened further, her hands flying to her cheeks. “What do you mean he’s acting like he doesn’t know you?”

I leaned against a piano, its keys clunking softly, my legs wobbly. “In class, he stared at me, like he knew me. He even said something about the ‘some of us knowing the dark side of history,’ hinting at… us, you know? The sex.”

My cheeks flamed, my voice dropping. “But when I submitted my essay, he was cold. Just said, ‘Thank you, Miss Isabella Hart,’ like I was nothing. And then Vanessa showed up, spewing lies about those fake nude photos, calling me a whore. I think…”

I swallowed, tears pricking my eyes. “I think he heard her and believes I’m some slut. That’s why he’s giving me the cold shoulder.”

Mia’s jaw dropped, her voice rising. “What the hell, Bells? You’re a virgin—or were, till last night! He should know that from the penetration, right? He noticed right?”

I nodded, my gaze on the floor, my sneakers scuffing the tiles. “He asked if I was before he penetrated and I told him I was. He felt it, Mia. The… blood, the pain, I even cried. But now, with Vanessa’s lies and that picture flying everywhere in school, maybe he thinks I’m lying, or worse. Or maybe he doesn’t remember me as the girl he slept with—maybe I’m just overthinking things.”

My voice cracked, my hands fidgeting, my body curling inward. Rejection was my shadow—Mom’s slaps, Dylan’s taunts, Jake’s betrayal—and now Sebastian’s indifference was a fresh cut.

Mia stepped closer, her voice firm. “That’s bullshit. No guy forgets the girl he slept with, especially not like that. Why don’t you confront him? Get answers. You can’t pretend last night didn’t happen.”

I shook my head, my red hair falling over my face, hiding my tears. “I tried, Mia. I went to his office, used the history club budget as an excuse to talk. He barely looked at me, acted like I was just another student. Like he didn’t recognize me at all.”

My voice trembled, my fingers clutching my elbows, my body shrinking. “That’s not my top worry right now. Mia, I’m scared. We didn’t use protection. What if I end up pregnant? What if—”

Mia grabbed my shoulders, her grip steady, her eyes soft but urgent. “Stop, Bella. Don’t spiral. Did you take a morning-after pill? Anything?”

I bit my lip, my head shaking, my voice a whisper. “No. I didn’t think… It was my first time. I didn’t know.”

Mia groaned, her hands squeezing me. “Oh my God, Bella! Okay, it’s not too late. Hit a pharmacy today, get Plan B. It’s still within the window. But you gotta talk to him, clear this up. You’re killing yourself with what-ifs.”

I nodded, my throat tight, my body jittery. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll get the pill.” My voice was small, my eyes stinging, but Mia’s strength anchored me, her belief in me a flicker of light.

She sighed, pulling me into a hug, her jacket soft against my cheek. “I gotta go. Mom’s picking me up for shopping, so no bus today. You’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” I lied, forcing a smile, my lips trembling.

We left the music room, the door creaking shut, and grabbed our bags from our lockers. Mia’s chatter about her mom’s coupon obsession faded as we parted ways, her wave bright against the gray hall. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, my steps slow, the weight of the day crushing me. The bus stop awaited, a lonely trek without Mia, but I needed to move, to escape the stares, the whispers.

I crossed the parking lot, the asphalt cracked, cars glinting under the afternoon sun. My head was down, my red hair curtaining my face, my thoughts tangled in Sebastian’s coldness, Vanessa’s lies, the fake photo on my locker—whore in red lipstick, a brand I couldn’t erase. A body slammed into mine, my backpack slipping, my breath catching. I staggered, my hands flailing, and looked up, my heart stopping.

Sebastian stood there, his blazer open, his dark brown hair tousled, his green eyes narrowing. “You again?” he said, his voice low, edged with irritation, his briefcase swinging in his hand.

I froze, my cheeks flaming, my voice a stammer. “I-I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry.” I backed up, my sneakers scraping, my hands clutching my backpack straps, my gaze on the ground. Shy, vulnerable, I was a mouse before him, my apologies spilling like water.

I turned to flee, my heart racing, but his voice stopped me, sharp and commanding. “Miss Hart, wait.”

I halted, my body trembling, my breath shallow. I faced him, my eyes wide, my lips parted, fear curling in my gut. What did he want? Why now, after ignoring me? His gaze locked on mine, a storm brewing in those green depths, and I braced myself, unsure what to expect, my world teetering on his next words.